Beautiful Fragility: Open Wounds
by PhoenixFirestorm
Summary: Post "Fault Lines". A series of oneshots dealing with the team's individual reactions to Toth's brutal interrogation. R&R please
1. BANDAIDS

**Beautiful Fragility: Open Wounds**

_Post "Fault Lines". A series of oneshots dealing with the team's individual reactions to Toth's brutal interrogation._

**ONE (1). BANDAIDS.**

"Today was a hot mess," Jules Callaghan remarked, popping the tab on a can of her favourite beer and treating herself to a huge swallow. Across from her, nursing his own alcoholic beverage, Sam Braddock had no idea what to say. Both he and Jules were accustomed to hellish days- working as part of the city's elite Strategic Response Unit was not as glamorous as it sounded. The human condition was a fatal thing, they'd learned- but today had taken the cake. A "routine" psychological/physical examination had quickly turned into a nightmare for each member of Team One.

"Are you okay?" Jules asked him, setting her drink down to engage him in a stare-off. Sam blinked. He couldn't bring himself to look at her directly, knowing that if he did, if he allowed himself to be captivated by those deceivingly harmless doe eyes, he'd be done for. They'd been playing some sort of tricky "We-Used-To-Love-Each-Other-And-Still-Do-But-We-Can't-Be-Together-So-Now-I-Have-To-Keep-My-Distance-But-If-I-Could-I-Would-Fuck-You-Like-An-Animal" mind game. They'd become silent experts at it over the past few months, especially Jules.

"No," Sam answered, staring at the clock just above Jules's head. "No I'm not okay. I feel betrayed."

"By Sarge?" that was so Jules. Give her a hostage situation with a female hostage or subject, and she'd be able to keenly detail the emotional angle of things. But when it came to her own affairs, she was blind as a bat. Sam wasn't sure, before he'd thought her oblivion was an endearing (if not exasperating) quirk; now he thought she did it on purpose. He should have seen that earlier, when they were still together, but it didn't matter, and anyway, would it have changed anything?

_No_. Jules was so damn set in her ways, so protective of a job that was now at risk because of a near-traumatizing psych evaluation, she would still have broken up with him. It didn't matter that he'd been prepared to introduce her to his family (for the record, he _never_ brought a girl to his parents. He brought plenty to his bachelor pad to tangle up his sheets, but never to meet his sweet-as-pie mother and hardass father), it didn't matter that he loved her. It didn't matter that the night before she'd dumped him, he'd had a dream about them married, with a little girl who had dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, with another baby on the way. None of that was relevant to Jules, it never had been. And, Sam told himself, it was best if he let go of it, too.

"Sam?"

"What?"

"Are you mad at Sarge for bringing Toth in?"

"No," Sam quirked a half-smile when he saw the surprise flicker onto her face. "He's human, Jules. And he didn't trust himself to overlook our flaws and our _histories_-" he gave her a pointed look at this, but she didn't seem to be on the same page as he was. "He was only trying to look out for us by being objective. He didn't know that Toth would be the one who…"

The portable phone shrilled. Sam stood, glad for the distraction, snatching it up.

"Sam?" an unsure voice queried. Sam recognized the soft, urgent feminine tone instantly. It had been a life-saver during so many of Team One's more taxing incidences.

"Winnie?" he furrowed his brow, shooting a glance at Jules. She shrugged, bewildered, but sat up straighter and pressed a finger to her lips. He rolled his eyes. As if he'd be stupid enough to let on that she was with him when they'd just been ripped to shreds for their brief relationship.

"Sarge, uh, he told me to call you. He's on his way to the hospital. Ed's been shot."

"What?" Sam felt as though a bucket of ice had just been poured over his head; the reaction he had whenever his hectic little world was thrown off balance. He'd experienced it only a handful of times: when his little sister died saving his life, when he'd accidentally shot and killed Matt, when Jules broke up with him, when Lou died, and… _now_. "What do you mean shot, Winnie?"

"He was shot. We don't know who did it. But Sarge is down there now, he asked me to call you."

"Down where? Is he with Ed?" Sam's head was spinning, that frigid, icy feeling was engulfing him. His blank face betrayed nothing, however, and Jules could only watch, curious.

"At the hospital. St. Simon's."

"Fuck."

"I know." Winnie agreed sympathetically.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I'm sorry, Sam, I don't know. I need to call the others."

"Yeah. Thanks, Winnie."

"Don't thank me. _Please_."

Sam sighed, hanging up the phone and shaking his head. It took a fair amount of restraint not to rip his phone charger from its wall outlet, punch said wall until his knuckles were bloody, and then crush the portable phone with angry feet.

"Sam?" the world was spinning, but Jules's voice was steady. "Hey, Sam, what is it?"

"Ed." she stood, moving closer to him. "Ed's been shot." the next few seconds were a blur as Jules approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. How many times since their split had he desperately longed to hold her like this again? But fuck, not in these circumstances, not when his team leader had just been gunned down outside of work.

"What the fuck?" he voiced his thoughts, barely aware that Jules had taken his hand and led him, like a lost child, to the living room. She gently eased him down into the arm chair he'd been occupying before her visit- reading a book that was cast off to the side, forgotten- before padding from the room.

Sam pondered where the hell she could be going, but then wondered, as another wave of shocking coldness overwhelmed him, if he cared. Jules returned seconds later with the blanket from his bedroom. Without another word, or another sound, she pecked his startled lips, taking a seat in his lap and draping the blanket firmly over both of them. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes, inhaling the strawberry scent that was seared into his brain. She grabbed one of his clammy hands with both of her smaller ones, rubbing it to try and make it warm again. She knew about the coldness. He'd told her. She knew.

They'd go visit Ed in a little while. As Jules's hands massaged his, Sam realized how funny life was. By sitting in his lap the brunette woman was fearlessly slashing open old wounds. And he found they helped to combat his new ones. But it would only be temporary, like a bandaid. Sam understood that when they left the apartment, he'd have to tear the bandaid back off, and both sets of injuries, new and old, would have renewed breathing space. He closed his eyes, wrapping one arm around Jules's waist. Right now, he couldn't muster up the energy to care about his painfully correct foresight. He was too busy holding onto his bandaid, trying to stop the hurt by pretending something was finally going to be okay.

* * *

**Hey guys! I don't know how many of you remember me, but it's been a LONG time since I've written anything for the Flashpoint fandom. Earlier today I was thinking about how uninspired I was, and then boom, I watched the season finale (caught it online today) and this idea popped into my head. My skills are a bit rusty, but I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Hopefully I'll add to this soon, with different points of view from the different SRU members. Did anyone else feel horrible for Spike? Or was that just me? And what's up with Wordy? I don't think his hand-shaking is something that can be passed off as nerves, but that could just be me. _What do you think will happen when the series continues? _****Leave a review and let me know, or message me. I'm REALLY hoping that Ed will still be able to work, as much as I like his family, I LOVE his surrogate family ;). And who the hell was that guy at the end, anyway? (I'm trying not to add spoilers, in case someone hasn't seen the finale yet).**

**Reviews inspire me -big smile-. Sam Braddock as a Christmas present would inspire me for life ;)**


	2. LIMITS

**Beautiful Fragility: Open Wounds**

_Post "Fault Lines". A series of oneshots dealing with the team's individual reactions to Toth's brutal interrogation._

**TWO (2). LIMITS.**

The sound of the slamming locker door was magnified by at least ten times, thanks to the fact that he was the only one in the locker room. Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth was a docile person by nature, and hardly ever treated people or things with the kind of flippant disregard he'd just used on his locker. He could count the number of times he'd raised his voice at his daughters on one hand (he hated yelling at them, and besides, he knew confrontational scenes gave Shelley flashbacks. Though her first marriage had been dead and buried for a _long_ time, Wordy's wife often awoke in the middle of the night screaming, hands over her face or nails gripping the bed sheets). He supposed it was odd, when he thought about it. Nobody pictured a specialized SWAT team member as gentle. He was a force to be reckoned with on the job, however, and he'd heard that many of the subjects they'd been forced to use physical action with had been knocked out by the smell of his breath (his favourite food in the world was Shelley's homemade cabbage rolls. He figured that the baddies of the world deserved a little nasal torture, it might make them think twice about taking a hostage or blowing up a building for the sake of revenge).

Wordy wondered how people viewed SWAT team officers: _strong. Capable. Invincible._

Shaking his head at the last term, Wordy wrenched open his locker again. Now he was word-associating, and the psychological evaluation, given by one merciless Dr. Toth, was over. God, that guy was a prick. Wordy was never the type to wish ill on anyone, but he sincerely hoped that Toth would get hit by a car- err, think about the consequences of his intimidating approach- within the next 24 hours.

Wordy meant to grab his street clothes and change, but of course, his eyes landed on the very same photograph that had caused him to shut the locker in the first place. The picture taped to his locker's back wall was of himself playing with his oldest daughter in a pile of leaves last autumn. Kaitlyn Wordsworth, his precocious seven-year-old, had been the one to help him rake the leaves all over their lawn into a neat pile. Then she'd jumped in them with the biggest smile lighting up her little face. Wordy, after lamenting the loss of a clean lawn (well, it had been for about ten seconds) jumped into the leaves with her. Not long after, Shelley had come out, camera in hand, snapping a picture to preserve the memory. In the photo, Kaitlyn was on her father's back, smiling mischievously at the camera while Wordy was lying down, smiling, spit leaves out of his mouth. Of his daughters, Kaitlyn was the one he'd peg as a future member of the SRU. Zoe, his four-year-old, was more introverted, clinging to her mother's leg. And Aly… well, Aly, their youngest, at two, had an undecided future.

Undecided. Wordy sighed, grabbing his t-shirt and jeans, pushing his locker closed once more. Everything was undecided these days, it seemed. Even the most concrete thing in his life- his place in the SRU- was now uncertain. All due to his shaky hands.

Wordy wasn't quite ready to face the diagnosis that had been lingering in the back of his mind for the better part of a year: _Parkinson's Disease._ That's what his doctor told him. He'd been very calm about the whole thing, almost detached, while Wordy's world was falling down around him. After that fatal appointment, he'd driven around in his car, thinking of Shel and the girls, of the mortgage he could barely afford, of his job….

His job. People said you shouldn't take work home with you, but being a member of the SRU was all about being human and using that humanity to connect to other people. He put his life in his team's hands on a daily basis and vice versa. As far as Wordy was concerned, Team One was part of his extended family and there was nothing he wouldn't do for any of them. He had no doubt that they wouldn't hesitate to do the same for him- but when the news of his disease finally came to light, nobody would be able to do anything to secure his job.

God. How was he supposed to tell Shel and the girls? He knew Zoe thought he was Superman. She'd told him that herself as he tucked her into bed one Saturday night after he came back from work. As a general rule, Shelley didn't like the girls watching the news in case word about the SRU came on and they became anxious. It had happened before. Kaitlyn and Zoe had ended up in tears seeing the news bulletin about Petar Tomajic. Somehow, though, right before his diagnosis was announced, Zoe had seen footage of the SRU's latest (thankfully triumphant) mission on the news, and as he pulled the covers up to his sleepy princess's chin, she said,

_"Daddy?"_

_"Yeah, Zo?"_

_"You know what I fink?" Zoe was having trouble pronouncing 'th', everything came out with a 'fff' sound instead._

_"What?"_

_"I fink you have a secret, and I know what it is."_

_"Yeah? What's that?" Looking back on it now, Wordy was thankful this conversation had happened before his doctor's visit. He probably would have burst into tears right there, looking at Zoe's small, serious, perfectly angelic face. She looked so much like Shelley, it was remarkable._

_"You're Superman. You save people. You can do anyfing." Zoe reached out and poked his cheek. He smiled, kissing her forehead before backing out of the room, leaving the door open a crack, just the way she liked it._

Wordy swallowed a sob. What Zoe didn't know, what Spike didn't know (his team mate had been short with him on the training course, accusing Wordy of not helping him when he needed it), what citizens didn't know when they expected to be saved by the SRU, was a hard thing to face. He may have been Superman, but even the Man of Steel had his limits.

* * *

**So there's the second oneshot! I'm not going to lie, I rewatched the episode specifically for Wordy's part. _I don't know if he has Parkinson's disease_, but based on my knowledge of the illness, I would say that's a fair bet. Symptoms of Parkinson's include **tremors of the hands**, **fingers, or forearms**, **slowness in voluntary muscle movement**, **slow response to questions**, **smaller, cramped handwriting**, and a soft, whispery voice. There are others, but those are some of the ones I thought Wordy displayed. Like I said, I am not entirely certain if he has the disease, so don't take my word for it.**

**Secondly, some people wanted to know if there was more "Jam" goodness on the way. I'm not sure, but I hope so! These oneshots kind of have a mind of their own. But I will be writing more Sam/Jules oneshots in the future, so look out for that.**

**ALSO, Where the heck did Leah go? Didn't Parker mention in the season premiere that a team required a certain number of members? Where has she been? Does anyone know?**

**CLICK the review button, because it makes me happy. Share your comments, thoughts, and honesty! What do YOU think is wrong with Wordy?**


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